


The Breakfasts of Champions

by Callisto



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Case Fic, Gore, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:59:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisto/pseuds/Callisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Winter has come to mean Blair in layers, spicy soups, and green goo shakes for breakfast. Many a morning he’s woken up on the edges of a dream about grasses and sunlight in Peru, sometimes even with helicopter blades mixed in. It took him a month last year to realize the trigger is usually that warm, earthy smell wafting up from the kitchen.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Breakfasts of Champions

**Author's Note:**

> Written to the prompts: gross - bear - tarpaulin - blindly

“Sandburg, that’s gross. Jim, get him and that stuff away from me!”

Jim looks up fom his desk. “Free country, Joel. The man can drink what he wants where he wants.”

“It’s green!”

“Don’t be such a bear, man. Just take a sip. I’m telling you-”

“Blair!”

“No seriously, Joel. The Hittites used to mix kelp with molasses like this as part of winter fertility rites. It keeps the cold out like you wouldn’t believe. Think of the spring in your step and stop being such a wuss. Come on...”

Jim glances up again, enjoying the spectacle of a hyped-up Blair dancing around Joel and waving a glass of green goo under the poor guy’s nose. Truth be told, the sound and smell of that goo being blended up every morning is simply another on the list of things living with Blair has made him used to. Winter has come to mean Blair in layers, spicy soups, and green goo shakes for breakfast. Many a morning he’s woken up on the edges of a dream about grasses and sunlight in Peru, sometimes even with helicopter blades mixed in. It took him a month last year to realize the trigger is usually that warm, earthy smell wafting up from the kitchen.

 

He can still smell the lecithin as they climb into the truck ten minutes later. Blair has the faintest milk mustache and Jim is having the strongest urge to lean forward and just...

“What?”

Jim grunts something deliberately indistinct and starts the truck.

 

He smells more than lecithin ten minutes after that. Three days in the river hasn’t left much for the body bag. Jim dials down and peels a corner of the tarpaulin back. Seconds before Blair’s horror-filled “What’s that on her—oh...” Jim understands that the strange rope around her neck is indeed the remains of her own intestines.

Jim reaches out as Blair stumbles blindly away, but he misses his sleeve and Blair is gone, noisily tramping through the debris. The cop part of him knows it’s a good thing, since Blair is clearly trying not to contaminate the crime scene. So Jim stays where he is, talking quietly to the cops who found her and watching Sandburg out the corner of his eye. He sees Blair straighten and wipe his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Then he sees him turn and give Jim a shaky apologetic smile, which Jim takes as his cue to approach.

“You okay?” He puts his hand out and finds the small of Blair’s back.

“Yeah...just. Jesus.”

Jim wants that blankness gone, so he leans in. “No more green breakfasts, Chief. You can start the day with coffee and donuts like the rest of us.”

“Jim...”

Too late for his shoes, Jim realizes that coffee and donuts is probably not the best topic of conversation right then.

******


End file.
